Hogan's Heroes: The Rainy Night At Mainparksee
by L. E. Wigman
Summary: The lads run across something a bit odd at the deserted inn on Mainparksee. Written for the SSSW contest 2019.


Disclaimer: I don't own Hogan's Heroes, nor am I making a profit off of this story. All characters in this story are fictitious and any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.

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Three shadows crept closer to a log cabin set back away from the road, almost hidden from view by the red and gold foliage of early October. A few yards away from the narrow porch was a pathway that wound down to a fenced-in section housing four powerfully-built German Shepherds. One of them was lying in front of her dog house and suddenly picked up her head, ears twisted forward. She began growling low in her throat.

"_Chut, toutou_." LeBeau whispered, approaching the fence. He reached into his pocket and removed a few tidbits of tinned beef leftover from that night's meal. "Are you being good?" He asked with a chuckle as the others joined her in pressing up against the wire for treats and some gentle pets.

Newkirk and Carter continued up the walkway toward the cabin. The curtains were drawn, but a faint glow could be seen around the edges of the windows. Newkirk knocked at the door. A short rap followed by a pause then two more raps. He stepped back and waited. Inside there was the sound of a chair scraping against wood and the door opened a crack before opening more fully.

"Guten abend," Oskar Schnitzer said in greeting. "Come, come."

They stepped through the doorway, LeBeau jogging to catch up. Newkirk welcomed the warmth of the big black stove. It was only the start of autumn, but the chilly wind was already permeating through his great coat and into his bones. Oskar did a quick scan of the yard then shut the door behind them.

"I was not expecting you to come tonight." He commented, gesturing for them to sit at the table. "The S.S. have been patrolling heavily since the Resistance took out two of their radio towers."

Carter pulled the tan canvas strap over his shoulder and set the bag on the table, greeting the elder Herr Schnitzer, who hobbled out of the back bedroom with cheerful grin spread across his face.

"Papa Bear's Delivery - come heck or high water, we'll always get through."

LeBeau rolled his eyes, reaching into the bag and retrieving a small, brown paper package. "The tubes for your radio," he said, giving the package to the veterinarian.

"Danke. Coffee?"

Herr Schnitzer settled into a seat at the table.

"Ta. We've a long trek to the inn out by Mainparksee, and I wouldn't mind something to warm me up." Newkirk accepted gratefully.

"Mainparksee?" Herr Schnitzer perked up, taking the thick, reading spectacles from their perch on the end of his nose. "Don't go up there," he said seriously, "It's dangerous."

Oskar rolled his eyes, while Carter leaned closer to the old man. He was particularly fond of Oskar's papa, who told great stories of the wars and the founding of the German Empire and its subsequent collapse. Carter could easily lose track of the hours, completely engrossed in the tales.

"Don't start, Papa."

"Don't start what?" Carter questioned eagerly.

Herr Schnitzer ignored his son and began one of his stories. "It happened many, many years ago, when I was even younger than you are now," he said, patting Carter's knee, while his son placed a three-quarters full mug of coffee in the American's hands. "A little girl, no more than three years old, came wandering into town. Her feet were cut and bruised from walking all that way with no shoes.

She - she did not speak or cry, or anything to discern her condition. She had blood stains all over her pinafore. We cleaned her up, my Johanna gave her some milk and cookies, and after some gentle coaxing we got her to tell us where she was from."

Carter interrupted with a guess. "The inn?"

Herr Schnitzer nodded gravely. "Muller Inn. It was a summer place. A place for families from the city to go and breath in the fresh, clean air. They were an odd family. Private, not very sociable. That night, we went up there - guns in hand - and what we found…"

He trailed off, shaking his head with the memory of it. LeBeau had taken a seat next to Carter, he stared at the black liquid in his mug. Half of him wanted Schnitzer to continue and the other half said to put his fingers in his ears. Surprisingly, it was Newkirk who prodded the old man to continue.

"From what we were able to piece together, the oldest daughter - the girl's sister - had taken a beau." He paused to add, "Hedwig Muller was known for many things, but her good judgment was not one of them.

Anyhow, she met with the beau in the stable beside the house, and either he attacked her and her papa came running… or her papa caught them together. Regardless, there was a fierce fight - you could see by the state of his face and hands - which resulted in the death of Sebastion Muller. Hedwig must've run to the house. The beau followed.

We found Sebastion's wife, Maria, in the kitchen. Hedwig was found in the tub of the bathroom. We never found the beau, nor did we ever learn his name. The inn was sold, the money and the girl were taken in by Sebation's sister in Berlin."

"Wow," Carter murmured.

"Exactly one year later, they spotted her - Hedwig's spirit - wandering the halls; calling for justice and begging to rest in peace. Every year since, she comes back. Four men were found dead within those walls the first ten years. And every few years you hear of another poor soul who went in search of her and never came back..."

LeBeau muttered a curse in French.

"That's a good story," Newkirk said, an unbelieving smirk on his face. "I should remember that for the lads back home. Love a good spook story, they did."

Herr Schnitzer drew back in offense. "It's not a story! It is fact. It is history. You will see if you go. Once _**she gets you alone in the inn..." **_He tutted. "_**No telling what might happen.**_"

Newkirk handed the empty mug back to Oskar, who apologized. Newkirk waved it off, whispering, "Me Mam's da was like that, too. You should hear some of the yarns he weaved." Aloud, he said, "Don't worry, Herr Schnitzer, once we meet our contact, we'll not stick around long enough to meet some vengeful spectre. I'll have 'em home and tucked up 'fore Schultzie wakes from his nap."

He ushered them out the door, Oskar's apologies and Herr Schnitzer's adamant warnings still ringing in their ears.

H~H

Muller Inn was a massive, three-story, stone building with a portico that must have been magnificent in its day, but was now dilapidated and wrapped in dead vines. The grass and shrubs were overgrown; though, dying as winter approached. Tall, grand windows - reminiscent of the old country estates back home - were cracked, broken, or so dirty that you couldn't see through. Chimneys stood on either end of the rectangular building and were crumbling, part of them crashed into the roof.

Newkirk had to admit it was the perfect setting for a ghost story. Dark and foreboding with the wind banging the limbs of the trees against the building. There was little helping the feeling of unease that rumbled in the pit of his stomach. He shook it off. Ghosts and spectres were nothing, but nonsense; something kiddies or cowards believed in.

They approached the house slowly. Newkirk leading the way with Carter close at his heels and LeBeau bringing up the rear. The moon, which shone full and bright for the walk to Schnitzer's, had disappeared behind the clouds. The chirp of insects lessened as the rain began to fall. The Frenchman unsnapped the strap which secured his pistol into the holster at his shoulder and turned to check behind them, seeing little in the darkness.

He considered himself a rational man, intelligent and well-read. He knew that logic and science denied the existence of the dearly departed wandering about outside their graves, but he was a man of faith, too. He believed in God and angels, and of course the devil. He believed in a heaven and hell. He'd seen the human soul leave the eyes of too many friends and comrades to deny its existence. In believing all of that, was it too much of a stretch to think that someone, who was once alive and now dead, could get lost between this world and the next?

A rusty padlock hanging from rusty metal and a rotted wood door was between them and entry. They could've forced it easily; however, their visit was supposed to go undetected. Newkirk stooped over the blasted thing, while Carter shined the flashlight carefully, shielding the beams from outside view. LeBeau took another scan of the scenery. He was about to turn back when he saw it.

Across the yard, a figure went through the door of the broken down stables. He blinked and it was out of sight. He didn't quite understand why, but he found himself drawn toward it. Curiosity egging him on.

"We're in," Newkirk whispered as he pulled the lock free. He looked over his shoulder and spotted LeBeau halfway in the yard, walking toward the stable. "Go get Louis, Andrew and be quick about it."

Carter went to do as he was told, while Newkirk opened the door. It creaked open. He entered, ducking under the cobwebs. He flicked his own flashlight on and the light revealed a very neglected house. The foyer opened up to a wide set of stairs with doorways on either side. Always one to choose left, Newkirk went into the next room. A big, open room with a tall ceiling and covered windows. There was no furniture and the rug had been pulled; although, you could still see the outline of sunfade on the wood floor.

"I'm not saying I don't believe you," Carter said as they entered the room. "I just said I didn't see it."

"Of course you didn't." Came the snappish reply. LeBeau was pale and he was fiddling with the straps on his holster. "She was gone by the time we got there."

"The contact?" Newkirk asked.

Carter shook his head and with all the seriousness of a preacher on Sunday, said. "No, Hedwig Muller's ghost. LeBeau saw her in the barn."

Newkirk directed the light at LeBeau and took in his fidgety demeanor before dropping it to look at the watch on his wrist. "The contact is supposed to be here any minute," he said, doing his best to channel Hogan's down-to-business attitude. "Just hang on to your sanity for that long, right?"

"You don't believe in ghosts?" Carter asked, seemingly surprised.

Newkirk snorted in response, hopeful that the American would leave it be. He did not.

"I do," he prattled on as he searched for something to sit on. "We had a ghost at our one-room schoolhouse in Bullfrog. He lived in the cloakroom and I used to talk to him all the time."

"Oui?" LeBeau asked. "What was his name? What did you talk about?"

"Oh, all sorts of stuff. The weather. Why I was sent to the cloakroom. Which was always Tommy Raglan's fault! He kept putting Suzie Lindqvist's braids in the inkwell and blaming it on me. And the teacher _always_ believed him, because she didn't like me; said I talked too much in class. I can't help it, sometimes I have a lot of questions. Anyways, the ghost's name was Phineas."

Carter, not finding a suitable item, decided to sit cross-legged in the middle of the room. LeBeau cocked an eyebrow as he settled down with his back against the wall. "Phineas?"

"He never told me his last name, but he was young. I sometimes wonder whatever happened to him…"

Newkirk stood by one of the windows, ignoring their chatter as he peeked out into the yard. All was as silent as the proverbial grave.

Until it wasn't.

The sound of glass breaking sent Carter and LeBeau back to their feet, the latter pulled his pistol. Newkirk waved him back, entering the foyer cautiously and moving toward the sound. He passed into the next room - a large, long room that perhaps had been a dining area - and through the swinging door to the kitchen. His eyes, long since accustomed to the darkness, guided him to the back door. He stooped to inspect the shards when a flash of lightning illuminated the room and the windowed door. A woman's figure was outlined and he scrambled back with a yelp.

"_Lass mich rein!_"

Newkirk recovered and pulled the bolt open, allowing the rain-soaked woman to come in. She wasn't exceptionally pretty. An unfortunately large, bulbous nose stood out on her otherwise pixie-like face. She removed the scarf from her damp head and shivered slightly, but recited the code phrase with ease.

"The barn cat had six kittens."

"Two tabby, three grey, and one midnight black."

She smiled, blowing a breath of relief through her thin lips. "Thank goodness," she said softly, reaching into her purse. She removed a yellow, manila envelope and held it out.

"What is it?" Newkirk asked. They'd been alerted to the meeting, but had not been told what the package was.

"I don't know," she replied, retying the scarf over her blonde hair. "I was just told to hand it off to the person I met here with the correct code. Now, please, I must go."

She ducked out the door and into the storm, while Newkirk unwound the catch and removed the papers. "Andrew!"

Carter and LeBeau appeared in the doorway. LeBeau was still as jumpy as a cat.

"Read this and see if you can figure it out. All Greek to me."

Carter used the flashlight and looked over the seven papers spread out on the counter.

"We should get going," LeBeau said. "We need to get back."

Newkirk checked his watch. "We have a few minutes. Let's wait and see if this storm lets up any."

The look on LeBeau's face showed just how displeased he was with that idea. Carter whistled.

"Oh, boy," he said softly. "It looks like diagrams and formulas for a new type of rocket with a new element. The rocket explodes with the regular stuff, but this big compartment at the back houses a gallon-sized jar of liquid."

"What's in the jar?"

"According to this, an experimental formula. Some sort of caustic substance."

LeBeau frowned, "Why would they put that in?"

Carter looked up, his face incredibly grim. "According to the notes, the liquid is dispersed during the explosion and covers the surrounding area. It's believed that as workers come in to rescue people or clear the debris, they will suffer chemical burns from the lingering substance."

Carter gathered the papers muttering under is breath about how bad that was and moreover how evil it was. They had to stop them. Not just by passing these on to London, but they needed to find Dr. Mauthausen - whose name was all over the papers - and take him back to London, too.

After a few moments the rain lessened, though the wind still blew. The lightning was gone and the thunder became more distant. Now was as good a time as any to start for camp. They'd made it to the road when LeBeau turned for one last look at the old place and his eyes widened. He knew he'd seen her in the stable! "Look," he shouted over the wind, pointing at the upstairs window. The others turned and followed his pointing finger.

"Shite," Newkirk breathed.

The bright, white figure in the window fluttered, then disappeared from view.

"Let's get out of here," LeBeau demanded.

"But shouldn't we see…" Carter began.

Newkirk grabbed his arm and pushed him after LeBeau's retreating form. "No," he said, "we bloody well shouldn't."

H~H

The walk back to the stalag was long and quiet. None of the men knew what they'd seen. Carter was convinced that it was the ghost of young Hedwig Muller. His thoughts swirled around how he could help her and allow her to rest in peace.

Newkirk - a born and bred skeptic - couldn't or wouldn't believe it. He'd learned every illusion and sleight of hand he could in his years with the circus and he felt certain that man - flesh and blood - was behind what they'd witnessed. Now what sort of crazed maniac would pull stunts like that in a deserted inn in the middle of the night during a world war… well, that was something he'd been pushing into the back of his mind.

LeBeau didn't know what to think. He'd seen her twice and she seemed as real as the men trudging along beside him. Her eyes were sad and haunting. The look she gave him… he shuddered just thinking about it. He wasn't sure he'd even be able to sleep. Perhaps he could find something to preoccupy him… like, maybe an early jump on the baking? Or even KP?

They crawled down the stump and made their way to the radio room. Kinch greeted them from his station behind the radio table. "You're a sight for sore eyes, I thought you were going to miss roll call," he said cheerfully, though his smile faded as the guys came closer to the lights. "Hey, what happened? **You look like you've just seen a ghost**."

"It weren't no ghost!" Newkirk snapped, his nerves still a bit frazzled. He patted his pockets, seeking the addictive comfort he found in nicotine. "It was a trick of the light or…" He broke off. Then he pushed past the others, pulled the lever, and ascended the ladder.

Kinch stood and called after him, looking up the ladder before turning back to the other two. "What's the matter with him?"

Carter seemed lost in thought as he handed the manila envelope to Kinch. "You know," he said, paying no attention to the question posed. "We could talk to the padre. If she was Hedwig's ghost, he might know of a way we could free her."

"What?" Kinch asked, astounded at what he was hearing. Carter followed Newkirk's lead, climbing the latter while muttering under his breath about the task of excising ghosts from their haunts. "Louis," Kinch tried again. "What happened!?"

LeBeau shook his head as he put his foot on the last rung. "The contact gave us those papers. Some sort of new rocket Carter said, very dangerous. Please, mon pote, take the Muller Inn off the rendezvous list."

Kinch watched him go up to the barracks before closing the hatch and returning to his desk. He was wildly curious, completely confused, and more than a little concerned. He set the manila envelope on his desk and found the little book they kept of the cleared, safe meeting spots and erased the inn at Mainparksee. No use borrowing trouble.

Fin

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Translations:

Chut, toutou. - Hush, doggie.  
Lass mich rein! - Let me in!

Author's Note: Thanks for reading thus far. I'm sure we can all agree, that was mediocre; however, I did use _two_ of the prompts! Not bad for someone who put off starting, then caught a stomach bug four days before the deadline... moral of the story, procrastination is not your friend. :D


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